


Remastered

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Dancer AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Stydia Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: Lydia is a ballet dancer in college. She has to share a studio with a bunch of rowdy hip hop guys, including Stiles.





	Remastered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Theresa](http://herscrunchiehairtie.tumblr.com) on tumblr for the 2018 stydia secret santa exchange!
> 
> This fic was inspired by this dance show I went to once, the name I believe is Red Bull Flying Bach. It had some ballet-bboy fusion stuff and remixes of classical music, and there was sort of a story about a ballerina and this hip hop/b-boy crew having to practice in the same studio and fighting a lot over the space but eventually they work together. Also this is me jumping on the ballet-Lydia train. And Dylan has moves so this concept was perfect for stydia.

In Lydia’s opinion, the best kept secret at her college is the archery room. At the end of a hallway in the basement of the rec center, it is easily passed over by gym goers. The archery club only uses it twice a week, and the doors, though kept closed, remained unlocked otherwise. It is spacious with wood-toned marley floors and one long wall lined with mirrors. All in all, it is the perfect space to stretch and rehearse.

She loves her school, lest anyone think otherwise, but sometimes she wishes the nearest dance studio was less than a forty-minute bus ride away, not accounting for traffic.

It’s only her second year, but Lydia is already taking junior and senior-level classes, thanks to advanced credit from high school. She relishes the intellectual challenge, and genuinely enjoys learning the advanced content. However, it also means she can’t afford to travel for dance classes. So, she vows to make up for it by visiting the rec center twice instead of once a week.

Or, it was until Thursday of week two in the first semester of her second year. Lydia is completing her warm-up routine when a figure, decked in a garish combination of blue and orange, barges through the doors in the noisiest way possible.

“This place isn’t booked, right?” the second guy asks.

“No,” Lydia and the eyesore answer. Lydia fixes him with a glare, not that he seems to notice.

“There’s nothing on today,” Lydia affirms. Because she doubts just two guys alone would have booked the place at such short notice.

“Yes, see, we saw the schedule, Scott,” guy #1 says. “It’s free all of today.”

Lydia turns away and returns to her routine. It is not as if she has never had to share the space before. The room was relatively unused, yes, but she was not the only one privy to its usual emptiness. She’s been joined by other individuals, usually doing yoga, a workout routine, or some stretching like herself.

The difference is, those people do whatever they do _quietly_.

These guys however, use a portable speaker. Whichever company is making the one they have should be making headlines like Apple, because Lydia has never found one of those small things to be so loud.

The one called Scott at least has the decency to insist they take up the far corner of the room from Lydia. It’s the other guy - lanky, baseball cap, orange sweater - who turns up their music without a second thought.

Lydia tries her best to ignore them, but it is hard when a. their music is so loud and rowdy, b. Orange Sweater’s said article of clothing is so bright, and worn over a faded blue T-shirt (orange and blue? Not a good combination), and c. they are actually pretty good dancers, she’ll give them that. She has never done hip hop or other street styles, but she can appreciate it. And Orange Sweater had some really good body rolls. Not that she noticed.

It happens again next week, both times Lydia is at the center. And the week after that. Lydia doesn’t shy away from glaring at them, but they somehow never take the hint. It’s getting on her nerves.

She imagines giving Orange Sweater a piece of her mind. After the first day, he starts showing up earlier than his friend Scott does. Lydia had to restrain herself from groaning out loud the first time that happened, but the thing is, he is well-behaved when he is on his own. He sits in the corner, looking at his phone, sometimes air drumming to whatever tune is in his head. But he doesn’t make a sound. Not even when he pushes the doors open, or trek across the floor to his designated corner.

Ever so often, Lydia finds him watching her. She thinks she does anyway, she’s never been able to catch his eyes in the mirror. Well, if he’s trying to get a reaction from her, she refuses to give it to him.

\---

After the Great Failed First Practice this past spring, Stiles knows better than to expect his and Scott’s little band to ever have a space to themselves.

The rec center did have an actual dance studio, but it was often booked up for dance fitness classes. During its few free slots, the room would be packed with various groups of people all playing their music at the same time. The mat rooms were less crowded and pretty nice - the padded floors were great to practice tricks on, but otherwise not the best for actual dancing, and they weren’t allowed to wear their sneakers in. The theatre department apparently had a “rehearsal room” that could function as a studio, but non-majors had to pay to book it.

It was Isaac who found the archery room, which in Stiles’ opinion the most useful thing the guy had done.

He was pleasantly surprised when he and Scott entered the room for the first time. It was narrower than the studio but the length made up for it. The archery team’s equipment was stacked nicely along the near wall or locked away in an adjacent storeroom. The floor was clean and smooth. One wall had a mirror. He didn’t know why a mirror was needed for archery, but he wasn’t complaining.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the girl at first, simply happy to find that there was only one other person in the room with them. It was only when she pulled on her ballet slippers and started dancing - let’s just say, Scott had to elbow him in the side. Hard.

To be fair, he’s never seen someone doing ballet in person before. The girl is mesmerizing to him. Her limbs looks unbelievably long even though she is probably a good head shorter than him. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail but falls in wisps around her face, and at some point he noticed that it was red but not really, it has more of a rose or gold to it depending on how she turns under the artificial light...he settles on strawberry blonde.

Her face is scrunched in concentration, but once in a while he’ll catch her glaring at him and Scott in the mirror. He figures it is because of the music but she couldn’t blame him for that. It wasn’t as if he and Scott could use earpieces since there were two of them. They weren’t playing their music that loud - just enough to hear the bass. And if she danced too, surely she’d experienced the chaos that was the dance studio.

He figures she’s just sour to no longer have the space to herself, or she could be the stuck-up, nose-in-the-air prima ballerina types (sounds tropey, but his most watched dane movie is _Dance-off_ for some reason, and yes he knows that sounds terrible.) But he also can’t get her out of his head. He even starts going to the rec center early so he can watch her for a few minutes before Scott arrives.

She never stops glaring at them, so Stiles decides he is going to make the ballerina glare at him as much as possible. Maybe it’s not his brightest idea, but at least it means she notices him. Besides, if she wanted to think he was just an annoying street dancer, he was going to be as annoying as possible.

\---

The third Thursday, the two guys are joined by their friends.

The one called Scott sends apologetic glances towards Lydia’s reflection when they walk in. Scott, Lydia thinks, would actually be a great guy if he wasn’t best friends with the orange eyesore.

(Yes, it’s been almost three weeks and she still doesn’t know his name, because he and Scott have some unspoken connection that allows them to communicate wordlessly. Many times she’s witnessed them share a look before simultaneously bursting into repressed fits of laughter, or break out into grins at the same time. The few times they address each other verbally, it’s always “dude” and “hey man”. And she hasn’t seen the orange sweater since that first day, but he came in with a orange and blue-striped jersey once which was almost as bad. Really, that was just a bad combination.)

_That’s it,_ Lydia thinks. The group is chattering incessantly and arguing over choreography, and at some point they left their music on so there has been an endless stream of hard-hitting tunes on top of all that noise. She’s had enough.

Before she knows it, she is stalking over to the group in the corner.

She lets her gym shoes slap against the floor to warn them of her arrival, plants her feet firmly and crosses her arms over her chest.

“If you don’t mind turning it down,” she says loudly, successfully getting the group’s attention. “There are others here who need to hear our music.”

She waves her earpieces for emphasis.

“Well that’s not fair, you’re probably listening to Tchaikovsky or something. It’s meant to be softer.”

“Stiles!” Scott admonishes. So that’s his name. What the hell is a Stiles?

“What? The room’s not booked. Anyone can do whatever.” Stiles turns back to Lydia and adds, “I mean, you can play your music out loud too. Everyone does it. And we’ve had worse, so. No one says you can’t.”

Lydia’s brows raise, but she schools her face into an unimpressed look. “Look, I prefer to be considerate,” she tells him in a sickly sweet voice. “You should try it.”

She stalks back to her yoga mat with clenched fists. During the short conversation though, someone had stopped the music playing, so mission accomplished.

The encounter bugs her for the remainder of the day, however. It leaves her thinking of ways to get back at the guy - Stiles.

\---

The following week, Stiles hears orchestral music blasting through the speakers as he approaches the archery room. He knows then, the spear has been thrown.

Okay, so he might have been a little out of line when the ballet girl confronted them, but he wasn’t thinking straight at the time. She looked hot when she was angry.

(Of course, if he really wants to get into it, the reason they had such a big group that day  in the first place was because Scott invited his first-year peer mentee Liam, who invited his best friend, Mason. Isaac had somehow managed to convince his housemates to join them, which is amazing to Stiles, because he had a class with Cora Hale last year, and she looked like she wouldn’t be caught dead in a hip hop jam. Boyd and Erica were cool though, if a little intimidating.)

He wonders how the hell she managed to play her music through the sound system? Even registered dance clubs did not have access to those.

He is also absolutely positive that she smirks victoriously when he enters the studio, only to scowl later when he puts on his hip hop music and it is still loud enough to compete with hers. He is pretty sure she switches to some grandiose piece with lots of violins on purpose.

If that’s what they are going to do, then game on.

\---

“Stiles, what did you do?”

“Who says I did anything?”

“Why is the archery room fully booked for the week by ‘Stiles Stilinski’s Dance Crew’?”

“It’s not, it’s booked by the S-S-D-C, which as far as the rest of the school knows, is one of several hundreds of registered students clubs on campus and not worth finding out who we are exactly, if we even exist.”

“ _Stiles.”_

“Okay, okay, Danny did it.”

“You mean you blackmailed Danny into doing it.”

“Semantics. He works for the rec center now. I called in a favour.”

\---

His victory lasts exactly one week. He doesn’t think too much about it when he checks online to see that the SSDC no longer has the room booked. He never really told Danny how long he wanted it booked for, although he did see his booking marked ‘recurring’ with his own eyes, and he is pretty sure that means indefinitely.

He should have known she would be behind it. The challenging glare she fixes him with when he enters the room tells him all he needs to know.

He refuses to acknowledge that she figured him out, but she is still watching him, almost daring him to speak up first, to make a move.

“So how do you know Danny?” he asks instead.

“We’ve had a class together and work in the same lab,” she answers.

So she was a science girl. Funny, he’d never thought about what she actually studied in school. She had to be a student to get into the center after all.

And then it clicks - “You’re the genius.”

“What?”

He’s somewhat pleased to see the look of genuine surprise on her face. “Danny’s mentioned you a couple of times. Lydia, right? You have a 4.0 GPA and matriculated as a junior. Danny and I go way back. We’re from the same high school, you know.”

He offers his hand. He figures, since they have a mutual friend, they can shake on being frenemies. “I’m Stiles.”

“I know,” Lydia says, almost sullenly, as if she’s adding an _unfortunately_ in her head. She eyes his hand but doesn’t shake it.

“You’ve heard about me.”

“I’ve heard your friends talking to you,” she sulks. “ _Loudly_.”

So she’s been paying attention to him - them. Stiles considers this a win.

“Isaac is not really my friend,” Stiles jokes. “Also, you somehow wrangled the PA system, so you don’t get to complain. And I’m pretty sure you don’t actually have a dance to Vivaldi _Winter_ , you just put it on because it was louder.”

Yes, so he looked her music up. Sue him. It’s worth it though, for the snarl Lydia almost gives him when she realises she’s been caught.

“What happened to being considerate, hm?” he teases.

“You know what, Stiles? You’re not worth it,” Lydia snaps.

The doors rattle open right then, effectively ending their conversation. Scott pauses just beyond the threshold, sensing the tension, and Stiles can imagine his exasperated sigh from halfway across the room.

\---

Whoever’s bright idea it was to have a career fair from eleven to two, they had better not let Lydia find out who they were. What was the point of putting such an important event right smack in the middle of prime class time?

Fortunately, her affected class was a lab section, and her TA was understanding enough to let her attend a different section just that week. So besides a few weird glances when she walks into lab on Thursday afternoon, Lydia feels like everything is working out. Until -

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Just. Her. Luck.

Stiles hops onto the seat next to hers and starts pulling out his lab packet - page by dog-eared page, because of course he doesn’t keep them in a binder. He keeps swivelling the chair from side to side, and Lydia has to stop herself from staring (glaring) at his hips.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she warns him. “I’m here just for this week.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles nods, and Lydia waits for his nosiness to poke through and ask her why she’s in his section this week. He doesn’t, choosing to chuckle at something on his phone instead, and Lydia internally harrumphs. Fine, the less questions he asks, the better for her learning.

Of course, the TA decides that today they will work in pairs. Lydia is just about wondering what she did in her past life to deserve this.

Stiles is surprisingly easy to work with. Lydia would rather he be annoying and stubborn, like he is in the studio, so she won’t have to admit that last sentence to herself. Instead, they burn through the worksheet quickly and arrange their molecule cards like clockwork.

“You already know all of this,” Stiles comments as Lydia wordlessly slides the cards for the Krebs cycle into the right order.

Lydia huffs. “I’ve learnt the course content of this entire _sequence_ , but I’m stuck taking _Introductory Biology_ because it’s required for my majors, and the department _refuses_ to accept AP credit.”

Stiles nods, like he _understands._ (He can’t possibly.)

“Yeah, I heard about that from Scott,” he says seriously. And okay, it is a lot better than the insincere “oh, that’s frustrating, but at least you’ll definitely do well” from everyone she has complained to, but she doesn’t need him commiserating with her.

“So, you’re a senior now, right?” Stiles asks as he draws on his worksheet. “Does that mean you’re graduating this year?”

“No, I’m taking one more year. It’s not entirely necessary but it will make it easier to fit my majors and minors, and give me more time for research.” Lydia answers. She checks to make sure he is drawing the correct molecule and not doodling or something else. They do need to submit the day’s packet as a pair, and she is not letting him tarnish her 100% record in lab. “We should mention oxygen is the final electron acceptor before saying the electron transport chain cannot proceed.”

Stiles nods and scribbles her additional explanation between his lines of writing. “What majors are you?”

“Math and biomolecular and chemical engineering.”

“You have three majors?”

“Two. BCE is one major And I’m minoring in Latin and philosophy.”

She can’t help but feel a little smug when he lets out an impressed “Wow, that’s really smart.”

If weren’t for the studio issue, they could have gotten along swimmingly.

\---

Now that she knows they have a class together, Lydia tries to spot Stiles in the lecture hall. She feels almost ashamed when she catches herself doing it. Just because they had one lab session together does not mean they were friends now or had a truce or some sorts. No, the turf war over the archery room was still very much ongoing.

Because when she’d gone to the rec center after her make-up lab, she found that she was no longer able to connect her phone to the sound system. Later, Lydia learnt that someone had reported an abuse of the sound system, and so the rec center manager was locking all the sound systems and overseeing them personally for the rest of the semester. The girl Lydia had befriended who worked in the rec center office was no longer able to leave the speakers in the archery room on for Lydia. What annoys her the most is that Stiles had sat through two hours of lab with her, acting as if nothing had happened, when he knew exactly what he had done.

She finally spots him towards the end, but only because he asks a convoluted question that the professor says warrants too advanced and tangential information for their class. He is not very far from her usual spot, two, maybe three rows back and a lot closer to the side of the hall where Lydia prefers to sit in the center of the row.

Lydia decides she’s purely curious, because she can’t fathom any other reason as to why she wants to look for Stiles.

\---

Monday rolls around and Lydia finds herself sitting a little further back and a handful of seats to the right of where she normally does in the lecture hall. She forces herself not to look around - she’s not _that_ desperate, she wants to tell herself.

It’s good for her pride, then, when the professor starts talking and she is only slightly disappointed that a certain someone hasn’t sat down next to her.

She focuses on the lecture and taking notes, actually forgets about Stiles for ten minutes, and then -

“Hey!”

Stiles has the most enthusiastic whisper she has ever heard. He shrugs off his backpack and coat before dropping into the seat next to her.

“Hey,” Lydia echoes, without sparing him much of a glance, because she’s copying a diagram from the slide into her notes.

She expects Stiles to start chattering away, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he takes out some paper and a pen and starts taking notes. Or rather, she thought he was taking notes until she peers at his desk to find him drawing. He has taken some notes, but minimally, and has doodled baseball players down the margin of his paper.

She won’t judge him for it, tries not to, after all, maybe it helped him pay attention in class. Besides, he seems to be listening to the lecture. His eyes are focused on the projector screen. She does wonder how he remembers what’s taught, because she _needs_ to take notes to help herself retain information.

As the clock ticks towards the hour mark, Lydia starts feeling chilly. The temperature has start plunging recently, and her thick fleece jacket keeps her warm when she’s outside, but indoors it is too much to put on. She rubs her arms together and makes a mental note to carry a thinner layer on her just in case.

Stiles pipes up next to her. “You cold?”

“A little yeah,” she admits.

He is already reaching into his backpack. Something flashes in the corner of Lydia’s vision. Turning away from the screen, she sees he is offering his sweater - the orange sweater.

At the back of her mind, she notes how this feels right out of a chick flick. “N-no, I’ll be good,” she squeaks, a little embarrassed. She has never been on the receiving end of such chivalry before, no matter how small.

“You sure?” Chivalrous, but still stubborn.

“I’m wearing blue. Orange and blue is not a good combination.”

“But it’s the colours of the Mets!”

\---

Somehow, she gets roped into Scott and Stiles’ study group. They are having sort of an unofficial, unspoken ceasefire when it comes to the archery room right now. Lydia has returned to using her earpieces and the boys play their music at a slightly less obnoxious volume.

Scott beams in greeting as Lydia takes her seat at the table. Stiles on the other hand, is staring at his laptop with this hands on his head.

“What do I do, Scottie?” he groans. He drags his hands down his face, then leans back and stretches his limbs out. An odd whine escapes his throat before he slumps in his seat. “Hi Lydia.”

Lydia turns to Scott, who releases a long-suffering sigh. “Stiles’ registration is tomorrow and he can’t decide what to do with his schedule.”

“So many options…” Stiles whines. He spins his laptop around so Lydia can see the windows he has open - the school’s planning and registration system, the course catalog, with tabs for multiple departments, the time schedule, again with multiple tabs for various departments, and an excel sheet with different combinations and permutations of his schedule.

Stiles starts explaining his, quote, “very big and complicated dilemma”, how he could take _this_ class or _that_ class, but he doesn’t know if _that other class_ will ever be offered again, and he is torn between _this_ minor or _that_ minor or if he should just save everything for electives, and how he needs to save a future semester for _this one class_ that conflicted with his major requirements last semester.

“What is your major again?” Lydia asks.

“Criminal Justice.”

“So why cinema studies?”

“I heard in that seminar they talk about Star Wars. _Star Wars._ That’s so cool. There are just so many things to do in college, you know?”

Scott groans as if he has heard this spiel before.

“That view is a little romanticised, don’t you think?” Lydia remarks, pushing his laptop back across the table.

“What can I say,” Stiles enhales. “I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Scott snorts at his statement, muffling it with his hand. He eyes Lydia and Stiles briefly before paging too intentionally through the binder in front of him. Lydia narrows her eyes at his odd behaviour. Stiles, she notes, is staring daggers at Scott.

\---

“Hopeless romantic?”

“Oh, shut up, Scott.”

Scott just laughs.

\---

She has a recital coming up, and no one knows.

It is just for a small, student-run production, not the biggest performance she has ever been in. Still, Lydia can’t help the small twinge in her chest as she listens to the other dancers talk about the people they have invited.

Her mother is on the other side of the country. Her one and only best friend is on another continent. Neither of them have a clue she even auditioned for a show.

She shares the event on Facebook anyway. Allison comments on it, giving her a big _merde_ , and it makes Lydia feel a little bit better.

She tries casually mentioning it in her classes, just to get the word out. A few people wish her all the best for the show, but no one expresses a serious interest in attending it. Then again, she’s not specifically inviting anyone to watch her. She doesn’t feel close enough to any of them.

The recital comes and goes, and Lydia relishes the feel of performing again. And then Sunday is a grind, as she clears the backlog of work she accumulated through the week.

She is a little less alert than usual come Monday morning, having slept later the night before. Her trek to class is a tad slower, and gets there just as the lecture is about to start. Stiles, surprisingly, is already there - he rarely arrives before she does. She takes the open seat next to him and readies herself for class.

She finds herself drifting in and out of the lecture, the result of her fatigue more than anything else. Before she knows it, everyone is bustling around her to leave the lecture hall. Lydia blinks, feeling a little disoriented, and begins packing her belongings as well.

“Hey, I saw your show last week,” Stiles mentions.

Lydia freezes. She could not believe what she was hearing. “You did?”

She finally looks up at Stiles, who is standing as he shoves his papers into his backpack.

“Yeah, I did,” he says. There is a soft smile on his face, and a light on the ceiling just behind his head, throwing a soft glow around his figure.

Lydia is at a loss for words. She stands up to meet his gaze (as best as she can with their height difference anyway; even in her booties he still has half a head on her), and silently shuffles out of the row with him before she manages to say anything.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Stiles clears his throat. “Well, uh, Scott came too.” He gestures over his shoulder even though Scott isn’t in this lecture section with them.

There are pieces coming together in her head. Stiles had found her on Facebook, so he must have seen the event. And he’d brought Scott along with him. Mostly, though, she is just stunned that he came to watch her.

They are almost at the door of the lecture hall now. Once they pass the threshold, they will go their separate ways. Lydia wants to stall, to hold on to their dwindling time together (for the day, that is), but there is a line of people on either side trying to get in or out, and she still doesn’t know what to say.

“How did you find it?” she asks.

“You were great,” Stiles replies earnestly.

They are out of the hall now, in the corridor, and Stiles has started backing away to his next class. Lydia herself has taken a few small steps in the other direction, but finds herself longing not to move.

_She_ was great. _She_ , not _it_. Not the show. Her.

“Tell me when you’re performing again,” Stiles is saying. “I would love to come.”

“I will,” Lydia blurts out, as he approaches the corner. “See you around.”

Stiles flashes her a boyish grin. “See you!” And then he disappears behind the corner with a wave.

She doesn’t tell him, only because she doesn’t know how to start the conversation.

\---

Although he religiously goes home every holiday, Stiles isn’t that big on Thanksgiving if he is being honest. He is the _‘is it Christmas yet?’_ person, so to him Thanksgiving is more of a study break to catch up on his work, and visit his dad of course.

He makes sure to message Lydia, because he knows she is spending the break alone.

“Won’t you be bored or lonely with no one around?” he had asked, to which she promptly replied, “No, I’m looking forward to finally getting the archery room to myself.”

She’d even sent him a picture of the empty room for good measure.

It has been a while since the last text he sent her, but he has come to realise that Lydia is the type of person that doesn’t check their phone frequently and responds at uneven intervals, so he is not surprised. He imagines her doing homework - reading ahead, probably - instead of enjoying her long weekend.

“Is there a reason you are smiling to yourself, or are you just being weird?”

Stiles puts his phone down and tries to school his expression. “Since when have I ever been weird, dad?”

His father merely raises an eyebrow as he sits down across the small dining table from Stiles.

“I was messaging Lydia. Made myself laugh, that’s all,” he concedes.

There’s a gleam in his father’s eyes, but Stiles, as he looks down, slightly embarrassed, fails to notice it.

“Lydia, the girl you dance with.”

“That’s her - I mean, we don’t really dance together, we just use the same room around the same time. But we have a class together, and study together sometimes. Lydia’s really smart. Like, really, really smart. Absolute genius level. But that’s not why we study with her, because she’s smart. Like yes she helps a lot, but that’s not it,” he rambles.

The older man nods, a knowing smile on his face. “So, is there anything there?”

“No,” Stiles replies. It might be the heavy dinner, or the fact that it is his dad (or both; he wouldn’t put it past his father to sedate him with a high-carb meal and then interrogate him. It’s something Stiles himself would do, so,) but he is not as defensive about it as he would be if it were Scott, or god forbid, one of the other guys, asking.

“No we’re just friends. I mean, she probably has all these other dancer guys…” He thinks about those other male students in the recital, all taller and stronger and more technically trained than he was.

“You’re a dancer guy,” his father pointed out.

Stiles chuckles lightly. “Not that kind.”

He is tall, yes, but does not have that lean, muscled physique, or clinical, controlled movements of those guys who do ballet, or modern or jazz or some other of those styles that all kind of look like each other. He is an all-over-the-place guy, loose and energetic, and it works for him, but it is so different from what Lydia does.

“How do you know that’s what she wants?” his dad counters. “I mean, she still hangs out with you.”

Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t have an answer to that. Then he see his dad smiling that half smile he has when he’s got a checkmate in sights.

“We’re _friends_ , dad,” he insists. “Besides, my feelings are irrelevant. She has to feel the same way. Like who knows if she evens sees us as friends - relationships in college are weird. I’ve spoken to many people but I don’t call them friends, and once the semester ends we never see each other again.”

He is rambling again, and his father is looking ever more victorious. “So you do have feelings for her.”

Stiles groans internally. Really, is that all his dad got out of it?

“Did you miss the part where it doesn’t matter? Objectively speaking, Lydia is way out of my league, okay? She’s smart, beautiful, and incredibly good at a dance style that gets more respect than mine.”

“Hey, you’re smart,” his dad begins. “No I’m serious, Stiles, you _are_ smart. And you are good at what you do, just like she’s good at what she does. And I’m just saying, I’m not getting any younger.”

“Oh come on, dad, you’re in great shape for your age!” Stiles exclaims. “I’ve made sure of that. Unless you’ve been secretly eating burgers while I’m away.”

His father just laughs, the mood of the kitchen lifted, and begins to slowly slink away to his room.

“Wait, dad, have you? Dad!”

\---

Stiles doesn’t show up in class the day school resumes. His absence is somewhat distracting (oh the irony); Lydia finds herself looking around almost every ten minutes to see if he came in late and plopped himself into the closest seat to the door.

He and Scott also don’t appear for their regular dance jams at the archery room. The resulting quietness feels out of place.

She figures they were probably returning from Thanksgiving late and tries not to think about it too much.

She finally runs into Stiles on Wednesday, on her way to a presentation about recent biotechnological inventions. He seems a little...off. She’s not really sure how to describe it. There is a slight air of nervous energy around his usually upbeat and hyper self. To her surprise, he asks if he can come with her. She agrees of course, although she’s fairly certain the lecture will go over his head.

_This could almost be a first date,_ she muses, and then quashes that thought almost immediately. What is her brain getting at?

In the end it can’t be a date, because attending the talk together never happens. The venue had filled up before she and Stiles arrived. Stiles suggests they have a study session instead.

Lydia turns towards the library, but Stiles clears his throat awkwardly.

“Actually, you know, I’ve been getting a little tired of seeing the library lately. Do you wanna grab a coffee and study there or something?” he proposes.

And thus was how they ended up in the loft of a Starbucks, notes scattered between them on the small table. They work mostly in silence, bar a little small talk, like when they both reach for their respective drinks at the same time, or when Lydia notices Stiles is getting restless and fidgeting instead of getting any work done. She has observed, from spending time with Stiles and Scott, that engaging Stiles in short conversation is the best way to help him ‘reset’ his focus in such instances.

When she hears Stiles sigh in frustration, Lydia knows it is one of those instances.

“So,” she begins casually. “Which classes did you end up taking?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, taking a swig of his vanilla frap decaf. “I decided to suck it up and take psych at 8.30 so I could take that H-and-I class I really want.”

Lydia looks up, intrigued. H&I - formally ‘Humanity and Ideas’ - was this small department in their school that existed primarily to offer general education-fulfilling classes. (Not that the area of study didn’t have its merits, but all the courses offered, while interesting, were so varied that no one really had any idea what H&I was about.) In any case, she had a H&I class on her schedule, and since the department was small and didn’t offer many classes each semester, there was a decent possibility Stiles had that class too.

However, Stiles replies, “Psychoanalysis,” when she asks him which class that is, and Lydia deflates.

“Oh,” she manages. “I’m taking H&I two-seventy - it’s like a seminar. They have different topics each semester and my section is called ‘History of Witchcraft’. It is the last humanities general ed class I need.”

“Oooh, that sounds nice,” Stiles comments. They proceed to compare schedules from there, and it is obvious they won’t have any common class next semester. Though realistically, they couldn’t have expected anything else, when their majors are in different departments.

Her coffee tastes a little bitter after that.

\---

Stiles spins around in his standard wheelie dorm chair.

“How do you make friends in college?”

“You split a bag of chocolates over my rug then rolled over them but I didn’t really want the rug anyway but my dad insisted so I had an excuse to get rid of it,” Scott mumbles without looking away from the book he was reading.

Stiles lets a short laugh escape through his nose, because the memory is pretty funny, and certainly not your typical ‘first day with my roommate’ story. There is one cinch, however -

“Yeah, but we kinda already knew each other before that, so it’s different,” he reasons. He and Scott had gone to a few summer camps together, and their hometowns were fairly close to one another, however becoming roommates in college was the first time they spent a lot of time with each other, and the rest was history.

“Don’t you think we’re a rarity? I feel like everyone I’ve met here, they’re not close enough to be a friend, more like...temporary acquaintances. They pass you by so fast. I want to form some lasting relationships here, you know?” he rambles. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly happy with you - ”

“Aww, I’m touched,” Scott replies. His voice is more monotone than the words call for, a testament to his focus on his book. Because Scott was a good student like that.

“ - but like, you meet so many people and work with them on a regular basis, but you never do anything outside of the one class or activity you have together, and when the semester ends you never speak to them again.”

There’s a sharp _thud_ , as if Scott just slammed his book down on his desk.

“Is this about Lydia?”

Stiles, who was starting to slide off his chair, fumbles to sit back up straight as he turns around to face Scott, who’s now facing him straight-on. He doesn’t get an answer in edgewise when the other boy speaks again.

“You’ve been moping ever since you had that study date with her - ”

“It wasn’t a study date,” Stiles interjects. “It was just studying.”

“But you wanted it to be a date.”

He makes a weird, whining sound, because he can’t argue with that. He settles for a shrug instead.

“Stiles, just admit you want her, okay?” Scott advises. “You wouldn’t try so hard to get her attention if you didn’t. It’s so obvious.”

“I am not obvious!” Stiles cries indignantly. “I did not try to get her attention!”

“You’re right, I believe the words you used were…'get on her radar’?” Scott fires back. Stiles would love to wipe that shit-eating smirk off his friend’s face, but right now he is too busy sinking shamefully into his chair from having his own words used against him.

“You think I didn’t notice you making the music louder again?” Scott continues. “You’re hoping she will come over and yell at you.”

“Okay yes, I like her, Scott. Happy? I think about her all the time. And I hate the fact that after this week I won’t walk into class and see her there. In the studio, that’s the only way I can get her to notice me.”

He stops to catch his breath. Scott scoots closer, pushing his chair along with his feet.

“You’ll have to work hard, and it will be daunting,” Scott, in a consoling voice, finally answers the original question. “Also, that is a terrible plan.”

So, naturally, Stiles continues the plan.

\---

The last two weeks of school are a little awkward. Lydia is increasingly aware that her time with Stiles is quickly running out, but she doesn’t know what to do about that. She swings wildly between looking for him in crowds to trying to not care. It’s not as if she has a crush on him, or so she reminds herself.

She runs into Scott once and they have lunch together, and she feels a little disappointed that it is just Scott today. Then she feels incredibly guilty, because Scott is a very, very nice guy. He just doesn’t own excessive plaid shirts or a hideous orange sweater.

The boys don’t show up to the archery room all of dead week, which frustrates Lydia as much as it appeases her. Their music had been getting louder and noisier of late, but she finds herself waiting for that flash of bright orange in the mirror to distract and annoy her.

The last time she sees him - or rather, the last time she expects to see him - is the morning of their biology final. She feels like she should say something to him, but doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t even get the chance to talk to him in the end, because their last names dictate their assigned seats on opposite sides of the lecture hall, and he somehow manages to finish his paper before she does.

She pushed her stretch session to Friday to accommodate her finals schedule. It didn’t occur to her that others might do the same, but when she walks into the archery room, Stiles is already there.

He is practicing on his own, in his and Scott’s usual corner, still playing music through the speaker, but at a far more reasonable volume. He freezes when she enters, and to be fair, Lydia starts herself. Finally, she pulls her lips into a smile and waves awkwardly, before rolling out her mat and proceeding to do her own routine.

Twenty minutes later though, it is apparent she cannot concentrate. His little portable speaker is crossed an obnoxious volume level ten minutes ago. Scott isn’t even here - he has no reason to be using that thing.

Lydia rips her earpieces out and yells across the room.

“Stiles! Do you mind?”

He has the audacity to ask, “What?” And Lydia seethes. The fact that he knew what she was saying over the music means he knows exactly what. He got this reaction out of her.

She must have a look on her face, because Stiles soon grumbles and winds the volume down - just enough for them to talk normally over the music.

“Okay now?” he asks, and Lydia simply raises an eyebrow. They stare off, until finally Stiles speaks again.

“Aw, don’t be such a party pooper, it’s the last day of the semester.”

Why, _why_ is he acting like this? After the last few weeks, she almost forgot the nuisance he was earlier in the semester. Now it’s like he reverted to that, but on steroids.

Lydia wants to slap him in the face. But she knows that is what he wants - to rile her up. She refuses to give him what he wants, so she spins around, collects her things, and makes to leave.

She hears her name as she approaches the door, and something catches her wrist just before she crosses the threshold. She whips around while swinging her arm. The bottle in her hand hits that of a flailing Stiles. Lydia huffs in pride and spite watching him wince dramatically at the impact.

“Whoa-OH my god,” he gasps. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lydia, just talk to me, please.”

There is a pause where the only noise is Stiles’ heavy breathing as he awaits her reply. Lydia realises the music has been cut off completely.

She huffs. “Talk about what? Obviously you don’t want to listen.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” Stiles rambles. “I mean, that wasn’t what I meant. I mean - well, I meant, I just wanted to talk to you. I don’t know about what, but now that the semester is over, this is the last thing we have together, you know? And we’re doing our separate things, so it’s not like we’re together. so I just wanted to make an excuse for us to talk. Even if you were just yelling at me. That’s the only reason why I play the music like that. Because you wouldn’t let me get away with it.”

It takes a moment for Lydia to process everything Stiles spilled out and work out his logic in her head. Unbelievable. For someone as smart as Stiles, he can be downright ridiculous. And she tells him exactly that.

“Stiles, that’s an incredibly _stupid_ idea.”

“Believe it or not, you actually put that way more nicely than Scott.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Yeah, I was told it is ‘terrible, ridiculous, insane, suicidal, completely tactless, and makes me a huge jackass.’ I didn’t know Scott had it in him, honestly.”

“Well, he’s right,” Lydia states. Stiles nods, swallows, then takes a deep breath.

“Look, I like what we had,” Stiles tells her. “I really like being around you, whether we were just in the same room, or studying together. I don’t want that to end with the semester. I like watching you dance, and watching you do your crazy math problems that only you can understand. I like _you._ Just like, whenever you even look at me, it makes my day.

“I know it’s the last day of school, and both of us are going off for a month. But when we get back to campus...Lydia Martin, do you want to go out with me? On a date?”

Lydia feels like the air has been sucked out of her throat, because loathe as she is to admit, she may have thought about Stiles more than she should’ve. She may have fantasised about her and Stiles...well, not really doing anything in particular (really, she’s not that horny), but just the idea of them being _together_. Before he went back to being a annoyance, that was.

“This - you are ridiculous, Stiles.”

She doesn’t want to let him off the hook that easily - she wants to make him work to make up for his hairbrained public nuisance scheme. But right now, she can’t ignore the earnest look he is giving her.

Lydia exhales, and lets her head loll before meeting Stiles’ eyes again. “Alright, Stiles. Call me when you get back from break, and we’ll figure it out.”

And then, just because she did say he’d have to make up for things, she adds, “And don’t wear the orange sweater.”

“What? Oh come on, Lydia, please?”

“Nope,” Lydia says primly. She can’t help but smile to herself as she walks away from the archery room, leaving Stiles floundering behind her. “It’s still not a good color combination!”

She’s just turned the corner when she hears the footfalls of Stiles scrambling to catch up with her.

“Lydia Martin, I swear the Mets will grow on you!” his voice yells distantly. “Heed my words!”

Lydia shakes her head. He may have convinced her to go on a date with him, but he will never convince her of that color combination.

(That’s what she thinks now, anyway.)


End file.
